by Grace Walton
Montana Miracles
Book One
Carried Away
Grace Walton
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All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I am not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Cover Art by Ramona Lockwood
Published By CleanHeart Publishing
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send Me!”
Isaiah 6:8
Chapter One
“Wait! Wait! Please hold the elevator!” she yelled as she galloped across the lobby of the new courthouse, big gold cross flopping up and down at her throat.
“Please?” She was still only halfway there and it didn’t look like whoever was inside was going to stop for her. The deputies stationed near the metal detectors just laughed and waved her along. They had been watching her almost miss her court dates for about two weeks now. It seemed the new Kindergarten teacher in town needed somebody to teach her how to tell time.
She ran the last few yards toward the elevator. If she didn’t make this one, she was going to be late, again. Carrie Smith did not want to have another private talk with the judge about being tardy to his court. No Sir, that was not on her personal ‘to do’ list today. One of those talks had been enough to last her a lifetime. She’d almost been tossed off the jury. If there had been substitute jurors available, she probably would have been.
I’ve got to make it to those doors, she thought, blowing at a string of hair that had escaped her braid. A relieved smile stretched across her face when she saw a big tanned hand grip the edge of the door as it was closing. A cheer from the deputies turned her around to grin and give them a cheeky ‘Thumbs up’ gesture as she triumphantly crossed the threshold.
“I made it,” she announced with satisfied glee. Poking the big horn rimmed glasses back up the bridge of her nose with a thumb, she juggled the denim tote on her shoulder. It proudly proclaimed her profession in red embroidered text, ‘If You Can Read This, Thank A Teacher.’ She immediately started fishing around in the enormous bag. She snagged a big plastic button from the bottom and pinned it to the shoulder strap of her jumper. ‘Juror of the Superior Court’ it proclaimed. Now that she had all the important things done, Carrie looked around the elevator car to see if any of the other jurors were late too.
He was watching her with a sort of superior smirk on his face. That in itself was irritating. She smoothed back her braid. It was a hopeless task because her hair had never been even remotely smooth. It was unashamedly curly. In another life the wild mane, along with her arresting sterling silver eyes had been her trademarks. That’s why she wore it in a single long braid now. And why she struggled every morning with a pair of yuck colored contacts. She sneaked another glance in his direction. Her heart went pockata-pockata when she got a good look at the man standing there guarding the numbered floor buttons.
Yep, she told herself, he was a definite pockata-pockata sort of guy. He was a walking cliché, right down to his sexy tousled black hair and his European tailored suit. Oh yes. He defined tall, dark, and handsome. That was ok, she reassured herself calmly. You’ve been around a lot of tall, dark, and handsome guys. And some average height, fair, and drop dead gorgeous ones too she reminded herself confidently.
All this was patently true, except the last one who was true pockata-pockata caliber had been Roberto Montoya Montez. She had met good ole Monty on the beach at Rio four and a half years ago. But his particular brand of pockata-pockata had turned out to be a dismal misfire.
Yeah, he’d looked like a god, but then, he’d acted like one too. He was the Lord of all he surveyed. But when he’d tried to survey Carrie, her Dad had broken his jaw. It’d been real bad news for a man in his line of work. Male models, here she shook her head and corrected her thinking. Guys who did print work- that’s what they liked to be called now-a-days. Print work folks’ livelihoods depended on their perfect faces and chiseled bodies. They were celebrities who were modern day gods, at least in their own minds. Carrie should know. She’d been one herself. She’d been a part of that world built solely on image until fate, Karma, or whatever you wanted to name it had happened to her. She’d decided a long time ago, fame wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Mr. Button Guarder showed all the initial signs of being cut from the same celestial cloth as Monty. Just like Monty, his face was beautifully symmetrical and his big body was wide and narrow in all the right places. Most likely every woman he’d ever met had worshipped at his altar, or at least tried.
Her mother’s kind voice suddenly scolded from somewhere inside Carrie’s head. “You can’t judge a book by its cover, dear.” OK, OK, she agreed. I’ll give him one chance, just one. Who knew? Maybe this was her best bet to meet a guy who actually turned out to be Mr. Right.
She gave him the seductive smile that had earned her six figures on more than one occasion. He didn’t smile in return. In fact, a tiny frown formed between his perfectly arched black eyebrows. He didn’t seem very warm or fuzzy or even remotely friendly. She hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. She’d never tried to strike up a conversation with a man in an elevator, quite the contrary. She’d always had to fend that kind of thing off. But she decided to go for it anyway. After all, how often did she meet a guy she had to literally look up to? Carrie was tall, really tall. So the sad fact was, once she put on a pair of heels she towered over almost every male on the planet.
“You’re new here in town, aren’t you?” Even she had to grimace. Talk about clichés. Well, she defended herself silently. I’m not used to making the first move. In fact, she’d never tried to chat up a guy. Not if you didn’t count that one time in seventh grade when she’d been 6 inches taller than all the boys in Jr. High. So she’d gone to the Valentine Dance alone? So what?? Once the guys hit High School and grew a little bit, she’d never had to ask again.
She watched him. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. Her eyes could rest on him all day. In fact Carrie thought about suggesting he get into the business. But she scratched that idea when she spotted the Rolex on his wrist. However, he made his living, he obviously needed no advice from her.
She continued to watch to see what he would do. In her experience, men only needed an encouraging smile. But her experience had not prepared her for this man.
Two deep lines bracketed his perfect mouth as the little frown became a serious ‘really?’ look. The last guy who’d looked at her with eyes that cold and icy had been standing in the snow wearing silk designer boxers atop a glacier in Alaska. He’d been doing an underwear spread for billboards.
“Sweetheart, I can save us both a lot of time. “
Well, she admitted to herself, the voice certainly matched the rest of the package. She decided the deep cynical rumble would probably taste like hot melted caramel. But she was pretty sure she’d never get a chance to find out.
“Oh?” she mumbled. Then she groaned. You’re supposed to say something really witty here Carrie, she instructed herself. Something to catch his attention and make him forget you just used the oldest pick up line in the world on him. But why was he calling her ‘Sweetheart’? It was downright patronizing. She hadn’t been that obvious had she? Carrie swallowed the disgusted lump forming in her throat. Maybe she had.
“Yeah,” he nodded decisively leveling those arctic cinnamon eyes on her again. “I’m not looking. And if I was, I’m sorry Honey but you’d be too tall, too thin, and way too plain.”
Honey??? That knocked the wind right out of her sails. Nobody had called Carrie both ‘Honey’ and ‘Sweetheart’ in such a condescending manner, ever. And certainly they’d never been used together in the same conversation.
The elevator bobbed like a restless cork, then settled as it reached the top floor. The door opened and he started striding out. Suddenly a slow wash of anger replaced her embarrassment. Too tall, too thin, and too plain was she?
“Listen you, you… human impersonator,” she yelled after him and threw her thick braid over her shoulder. “I’m not looking either, but if I was you’d be too… rude, too arrogant, and too… too… tall yourself.” He didn’t even turn his head. But everybody else milling around outside the courtroom sure did.
Well, you put him in his place Carrie. She mentally patted herself on the back. She had to be honest and admit the too tall crack had been a lie. But it was the best she could do on the spur of the moment. The rest of what she’d yelled had been true, yes it had. He was still walking through the courthouse like a conquering hero. People just naturally stepped aside as he passed by. Arrogant, macho jerk, she sniffed. Then she thought about what he’d said, too plain. Yeah, he’d called her too plain.
Deep quirky gusts of laughter leapt up from her belly and swamped all over her. She wished she could call her agent and tell him. Sid, an outspoken Australian, would appreciate the irony as much as she did. But Sid didn’t know where she was. Nobody did. So she’d have to enjoy the humor of her situation alone. Carrie bent over double chuckling and put on another show for all the people staring her way. It was the first time she’d genuinely laughed in years.
There was a neutral beep from the door to warn her she’d better get out, or she was going back down. As she left the elevator and walked toward the bailiffs, she tried to be dignified. As a teacher, she had to maintain an aloof manner. At least that’s what one of her professors had said. So Carrie straightened her cotton jumper and made a conscious decision to forget the only interesting man she’d seen since she’d moved to Montana. It was the safest course. She couldn’t risk the involvement.
She wondered once more just how she had been picked to serve on this jury. Partly it was because she’d only lived there 6 months. She’d never heard all the pre-trial publicity that had eliminated so many others in the jury pool. Mostly it was because there just weren’t many people in the little town of Burnt Hickory, Montana. The town sign announced: Population- 2,000 residents. There’d been more people than that living just on her block alone in New York.
One of the bailiffs silently let her into the back hall. He led her towards the jury room. At the heavy door he scanned a card against the security strip. It snicked and unlocked. He opened the heavy door and greeted her.
“Morning Ms. Smith.” He nodded and motioned her in. She smiled in return and started down the long hall. Several jurors were sitting around the large oval table inside. One chubby older man spoke up.
“Morning Carrie, want a cup of coffee?”
“I’d love one Harvey.” Her mind needed the caffeine and her bruised ego needed the adoration, she decided as she settled into her usual chair. Harvey Beasley would provide both.
They had been following this routine for almost two weeks now. They all sat in the exact same chair each time the judge issued a break. They talked about everything in the world. But never about the trial. The judge had given them strict instructions, about not discussing what happened in the courtroom. When all the evidence had been presented, and the lawyers got through prosecuting and defending, then they would discuss and make their final decision.
So for two weeks, at every break, Carrie Smith had listened and learned about her neighbors. She now knew who had dread diseases and she suffered through the telling of the minute disgusting details of every one of those diseases. She knew who had run off with whom else’s wife. She came to understand who really ran the mainstream denominational churches in town. There were two, the Baptist Church and the Methodist Church. In both cases she was told the pastors’ wives, not the pastors themselves, wielded the real power.
Yes, she’d met a lot of fine folks up here at the courthouse. Small town America is wonderful, she told herself. She whispered it to herself one more time just for good measure. Those five words had become sort of a mantra for her over the past months. She sighed and hoped one day she would really believe them. It was just so different from her other life.
Moving slowly, Harvey brought her a Styrofoam cup of muddy coffee. It wasn’t Starbucks, but then Burnt Hickory, Montana wasn’t Manhattan.
“Thanks Harvey,” she said and watched a line of red crawl all the way up his weathered face. It stopped just short of the little tufts of hair sprouting from his ears. He came up to her chin and had a head full of flowing white hair. He looked like he could have been an original cast member of the ‘Andy Griffith Show”. Maybe the guy who had played the drunk? And she was pretty sure he had a crush on her.
“Welcome, Carrie,” he mumbled and cleared his throat. “Uh… Carrie?” He sat down abruptly.
”What is it Harvey?” she asked, as she rummaged through the huge denim bag she had dumped on the table. Carrie pulled out her lesson plan book and some colored pens. If they were going to have to wait for a while, she might as well write lesson plans.
“Carrie?” he asked again and suddenly she was aware of how quiet the room had become. Uh-Oh, she thought. This was not good. She’d had a lot of guys hit on her in the past, but never one as old and sweet as Harvey. And never right after something like the fiasco in the elevator. Men were so difficult to understand, she mused in confusion.
“Carrie?” He was having a little trouble getting started.
“Yes Harvey.” She liked him too much to dodge him. He was a nice harmless old guy. Harvey Beasley is a nice, perfectly harmless old man, she repeated to herself. He’s harmless-perfectly harmless, she told herself once again for good measure. Why as nice as Harvey is, he’s probably going to ask me to go to Sunday School with him. There, now she felt better.
“Carrie… I was wondering if you might drive into Billings with me this weekend and catch a movie?” He tugged on his collar like it was choking him.
“Uh…” Think fast Carrie. Think real, real fast, she commanded her stunned brain. “Uh…” She looked at the sea of faces around the table. No help there, although a few of them looked sympathetic. “Uh…”
“We could go for drinks after the movie. And maybe even stay over. I know a girl like you. I mean a big city girl, is used to a more fast paced lifestyle,” he prodded. There was something about the curl of his lip and the insinuation in his voice that really bothered her.
“Uh…” The change in him was unsettling to Carrie. “Uh… you know Harvey, school starts next week and I’ve got tons left to do, tons.” The excuse sounded lame even to her. Maybe it would work, she thought optimistically.
“Well, how about when things settle down at school?” He was persistent, she’d give him that. “I really want to spend some time getting to know you Carrie.”
A sarcastic snort from one of the other jurors at the table was stifled by a frown from Harvey. He was like a bulldog with a bone. And Carrie had a sinking feeling she was the bone in question.
“I’m serious about this Carrie,” Harvey amped up the whine in his tone.
“Ready folks?” the bailiff interrupted as he opened the door.
Carrie closed her eyes, grateful she hadn’t had to answer Harvey’s last question. As they filed out of the room and into the courtroom, she made sure she didn’t make eye contact with him.
They sat in the jury box exactly as they did in the jury room. It was almost as if they had assigned seats. They didn’t of course. But they all found comfort in the familiar, so they sat in
the very same seats every time. Thankfully, she was at the opposite end of the box from Harvey.
You’re batting 1000 today Carrie, she mocked herself. So what if the absolutely physically perfect, but socially twisted guy in the elevator treated you like a leper? You’ve still got good old Harvey Beasley to fall back on. That awful thought produced an involuntary shudder.
“Counsel, you may call your next witness,” the judge instructed as everyone sat down.
“The state calls Dr. Gage Ferguson, Your Honor,” the prosecuting attorney stated. An audible ripple traveled through the courtroom as the judge nodded. The lawyer motioned for his assistant to go out into the hall and summon the witness. Seconds later the assistant returned with Attila the Elevator Button Guard.
Carrie rolled her eyes behind her thick lenses. She just couldn’t catch a break. How could a person be so cursed all in one day? This just couldn’t be happening to her. Now she was going to have to separate her personal feelings from her logical judgment. I can do this I know I can do this, she told herself. She took a deep cleansing breath and shoved her horn rims all the way up the bridge of her nose.
He was raising his hand and listening to the clerk read the oath. He hadn’t noticed the bag woman who’d accosted him in the elevator. But directly after taking his seat, he scanned the jury and saw her. Yeah there she sat, baggy plaid jumper, soda bottle bottom glasses, and wiry hair escaping her homeschool mama braid. It stuck out in little random Titian corkscrews all over her head.
He’d regretted the harsh words he’d aimed at her the minute they’d left his mouth. But what was he supposed to do? Just because he knew his life had been changed by the Lord didn’t mean anyone else did. And whereas a couple of years ago, he might have played along with her hitting on him, just to see where it led. Now he didn’t do that sort of thing. Of course now he took more cold showers than any man alive. They were part of the extreme measures he took in order to achieve a manageable level of disinterest in the opposite sex.